Priceless
by thirdmetaphor
Summary: Hashirama. Madara. Their imperfect relationship.


**Priceless**

My second entry for PikaCheeka's Second Hashirama and Madara Fanwork Contest

**A/N: **This is an expansion/continuation of drabble previously posted (in 'The Other Leaf') called 'On Top', although you don't need to have read that to read this.

.

"What do you think? I'm not a starfish or a pepper tree. I'm a living, breathing human being. Of course I've been in love." – Murakami, _Kafka on the Shore_

.

The first time they have sex, it's hands everywhere, fumbling through Madara's nagajuban and the layers and layers of Senju-style clothing that Madara has _always _despised but does Hashirama listen to his not-so-subtle hints to change his hermit-like fashion sense? Not a chance. So he painstakingly unties every tie and unhooks every hook and by the time Hashirama is finally as bare as he is it feels like they're at the end of a tiresome battle and wasn't sex supposed to be fun?

That was what Hashirama had told him, at least. Which is precisely why he followed that one nudging voice in his head that he'd once dismissed as psychosis. (_Love? The fuck was that? He had four miai waiting for him!_)

"Idiot Senju, if it takes this long next time, I'm leaving," he mutters, trying not to think about what exactly it is that he signed up for. But it's temporarily forgiven when Hashirama's eager mouth is against his, breathy and sweaty and dripping with heat. Madara can feel a slow pulsing against his thigh and he sighs because _of course _his stupid Senju lover would be some kind of insatiable monster who's hard _already_.

But Madara is quite insatiable himself and this is right about the moment when he looks down and after another second of pondering he decides he's fine with that so there.

This first time, it's just straight plain _let me fuck you hard against the wall and we'll deal with the rest later _and Madara finds himself with his back to that exact wall of the Uchiha gatehouse, arms wrapped around his lover's shoulders. And _did they even decide who'd be on top? _but Hashirama is already deep inside him and it's a little too late to think about things like that. He's seventeen and in love and his brain just storms off somewhere incomprehensible (_would it be back on time?_) and leaves him sighing into the heat of Hashirama's collarbones.

And in between every pleasured groan his Uchiha pride is trying to hint at him that maybe _something _has gone very very wrong because Hashirama's cock feels amazing inside him but, well, there's exactly that. But if there's one thing Hashirama has taught him it's that pride isn't a thing he should care about when they're together. It's something that should be tossed into the wind, discarded, like the opinions of everyone who said their village wasn't possible. Pride is useless, even though Madara still hangs onto it like it's some priceless thing.

~o~

The second time is a little different. This time Hashirama arrives with this glint in his eye and Madara briefly wonders what he's gotten into but there's no time to think as their tongues are sliding against each other and his common sense runs off to its happy place.

"Slow," Hashirama murmurs against his mouth. "I want to go slow this time. I want to try all sorts of things."

"You'll be the death of me, idiot Senju," is Madara's calm reply but his insides feel like they're filled with that gossamer stuff cicadas' wings are made of, fluttering and saccharine sweet against the walls of his stomach as he's pushed back against the wall and weren't they going to take it slow this time? (_What did 'slow' even mean, with something like this?_)

Hashirama slides lower, onto his knees, and looks up with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I've heard about this before, but I've never actually done it, so I hope it's ok." And what that he's reaching down, taking Madara's half-hard cock past his lips and suddenly there are streaks of blinding white across Madara's vision and _oh what the hell was this some kind of pleasurable torture because oh…_ and it's like this for all of five seconds.

And then.

"Dammit Hashirama teeth, teeth, _teeth_!"

~o~

'Shinobi learn quickly with their bodies' (_so you must train longer, harder, every day_), is what otou-san tells him in that wise old voice of his that contains all the spite in the world. This one line, however, is something Madara agrees with, because he knows Hashirama's body better than his own. He knows every scar, knows that the muscles of the back of his thigh bunch up when Madara grips him there, knows the length of his hair so well he could draw it if he had any talent with a brush.

Hashirama is not like this. He knows nothing about Madara, and is always wondering at what he finds.

"Where'd you get this one?"

"One of my brother's tantrums when he was a kid."

"And this?"

"It's a burn from hotpot. I was impatient and hungry."

A chuckle. "This one looks weird."

"Idiot, that's an actual battle scar. You gave me that one during our first spar with kunai."

"Really?"

"You did. I'll show you where my kunai grazed you." Madara reaches forward to push Hashirama's shirt up, and then pauses at the smooth, flawless expanse that is his chest. He almost forgot.

"You won't find it," his friend informs him, although he already knows this.

"You and your stupid iryou-ninjutsu!" Madara huffs. "Wear your scars with pride, you fool!"

There's an interesting look in Hashirama's eyes as he pauses to consider this. After a few seconds, his fingers cup Madara's face. They slide gently up his cheekbones, tracing one barely-visible scar that he knows not to ask about. "Alright. I will."

So when he takes Madara against a tree and the Uchiha boy scratches relentlessly at his back in a fit of passion, he keeps every pale streak, like trophies of battle. Madara later yells that this is definitely _not _what he meant by that remark and wonders why he is still fucking this idiot friend of his.

~o~

It's only the fourth time when Madara decides that enough is enough and pushes his friend roughly against the ground of the riverbank, sweaty and breathing hard from their taijutsu spar.

"Here?" Hashirama asks with a hint of cheek in his voice.

"Here."

And this time he chokes and splutters on Hashirama's cock (_how did Hashirama do this anyway? And why did he have to be bigger?!_) but when he finally finds some sort of rhythm to this weird dance he grasps it and follows it, driving his friend straight into oblivion and filling the clearing with the sound of their lovemaking.

For his part, Hashirama is loud. He doesn't obscure his moans with his hands like Madara does, and each of his gasps is audible to every songbird in the trees above them. Hashirama is loud, loud, loud and Madara doesn't know whether to continue to go hide behind a rock somewhere.

"C-coming-"

And suddenly his mouth is full with it and he notices, feels how it's spurted into the back of his throat where he gags for a few seconds before collecting it with his tongue and spitting the white substance to one side. Madara wastes no time in reaching up and kissing his friend harshly, biting his lips until they almost bleed. Like their spar hasn't really ended at all.

"Oi that hurts! Is this my punishment for coming too soon, or something?!"

(_It's your punishment for being loud_). "If you want to think of it like that, then sure."

(_When did Hashirama's shirt come off, and how did he take it off so quickly?_)

He pushes his clothing out of the way, not bothering to take it all off before pushing roughly into Hashirama, who seems uncomfortable for all of three seconds before gasping and drawing him closer like always.

~o~

It's different when they're men, much different. For one, there's the time-worn practice of finding a way into Hashirama's room without his idiot brother finding out. While learning this he finds out more about the Senju compound than the Senju themselves, if only because hell would descend before they fucked within the Uchiha grounds where Izuna could hear.

And every time is somehow different. There are times where they do nothing but stare at rudely dismissive documents sent by foreign countries while Hashirama pretends he doesn't want to curl into a ball and find a hole to hide in. There are times when Madara sits half-naked with him on the bed (_although he would reluctantly admit to himself that his pants served no purpose since he always felt naked around Hashirama anyway_) and snarks about how his people are losing faith in him, and it's all Hashirama's fault, and Hashirama should quietly go kill himself to resolve the issues, to which Hashirama replies that if he did so there would be no one to stop their villagers from rising up against Madara themselves.

There are also times when one of them makes a joke about marriage.

"No need for that," Madara replies at these times, pulling his friend-_lover _on top of him. "We already have what we need, there's no need to make it any worse."

"Right," Hashirama agrees, though Madara isn't sure if they're both agreeing to the same thing.

Because it's weird_-not right-_(_aren't they all expecting children from him?_) but they're weird too and that tends to be what settles it. He's spent years rationalizing it to himself, convincing himself that insanity seems to be the one connection between all consistently powerful shinobi. They're insane, insane, utterly insane and he loves every moment of this erotic madness. He wants to pick up each corner of it and gather it together and keep it for himself so it never spills away.

"You are a constant." Madara mumbles into his hand as Hashirama finishes inside him.

~o~

Neither of them knows how long it can happen, and neither of them really cares. In fact, they sometimes think that Konoha does not care either. Sometimes, when they wonder how much people can really see, and how many other men Hashirama has painted in elaborate furisode. It's a thing of stunning brushwork but Madara feels slightly nauseous when he sees it.

Hashirama is irritable this day. "People are starting to wonder how we always know each other's opinions when they never see us in public together. Perhaps we're being excessively careful."

"Then perhaps we should inform them that you're especially talkative during after-dinner fucking. "

Hashirama slumps. "My brother would murder me..."

"If that's your only problem, then allow me to resolve it." Madara solemnly picks up his ganbai.

"Don't go near him. I once protected you from him, and I have no problems in protecting him from you."

Madara rests his ganbai against Hashiama's futon, almost reluctantly. Then he speaks. "If you could choose-"

"I hate how you revert to being a fifteen-year-old boy whenever my brother is mentioned," comes the immediate reply. "Don't ask questions that you know are rhetorical."

He's silent at this-

-and just as silent when he takes him against the wall of his room later that night. Roughly, for the first time in years. Roughly. Every thrust is an opinion. And the kisses he lays along his lover's neck are apologies.

~o~

The first person to find out is Senju Toka, who walks obliviously into the room with a pile of documents in her arms to see her retired (_at the ridiculously young age of thirty!_) clan leader fucking the Nidaime Hokage against the table.

"Ahaha...aha...ah.." Hashirama splutters weakly, making no move to pull out while Madara lies frozen underneath him, feeling his life flash before his eyes.

Toka blinks. Twice. Then she walks over to casually place the newly arrived treaty from Suna onto the desk they occupy. Keeps her eyes on the floor. "These needs to be read over and signed," she tells them in her political drone. "I would suggest finishing them by today so we don't need to house the messengers for longer than necessary." She turns to leave, allowing the door to gently fall closed behind her. After she's gone, there's silence so thick it chokes them.

"_I will set her on fire and consume her ashes_," Madara hisses.

But Hashirama leans down and laughs, mouth against his lover's collarbone. A rich, deep sound that fills the room with its melody. He laughs almost uncontrollably, and his hands reach between their bodies to grip Madara's cock, jerking it experimentally and reveling in the resulting groan.

"Priceless!" He says. "Your expression! I've never seen you this angry since the time I won our very first spar!"

"Idiot! We need to stop her before she reaches a public place!"

"Why, Madara? If anything, she'll take care of it for us. And Tobi will stop pestering me to get married. And Hikaku-san will allow me to enter your clan's Main House since I've already entered far more."

It's foolish. He doesn't know why, but it is. And for some reason this softens his expression, makes him wonder what it would be like. A change. It's not that stupid thing called love. Definitely not. Madara has already associated love with the sharp eyes of his mother and of other traitorous girls and this is everything but. Something different.

"What do you say? Why don't we let them all find out, like you suggest sarcastically at least once a week?"

And he's an utter fool to agree but so is Hashirama so there.

* * *

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